Chapter 7
Mid-December
Maddie had not left the island. Nor had she told anyone what she’d found.
After several days, when no other notes appeared, she’d dismissed the note as harmless, a joke planted by someone with too much time on their hands. Occasionally, when coming or going, she glanced under the rock. But weeks ago she’d tucked the note in her suitcase and forgotten about it.
Kevin’s architect had pulled together everything required for her lease application.
She’d presented the blueprint and proposal to the Board before the deadline; they’d hinted that a decision might be made “in January.” Rex reminded her that the anonymous “investor” was still available if need be, but Maddie said so far, she really wanted to try to work out the financial part on her own.
Meanwhile, she became immersed in buying new and replacement things for Grandma’s cottage and in learning whatever she could find online about running a bookshop.
With Christmas growing close, and as engaged as Maddie was, she could not remember being happier.
She’d had lunch with Rex three times (Kevin was there, too), and the outings went smoothly, with the conversation confined to the inner politics of Vineyard life, and how they might or might not affect her plans.
As for Rex, she was content with them being friends, and pleased that he was, to some degree, involved in her project, especially because of his island know-how and connections.
And then Kevin suggested that the three of them visit a few independent bookstores on Cape Cod.
“A day trip,” he said at their most recent lunch. “I want to check out their shelving and fixtures, and I thought you might be able to find a few merchandising approaches that are different from the Vineyard bookstores. And Rex …”
“Don’t tell me,” Rex said. “I can check out the in-store cafés because I don’t have a clue how one should look or be run.” He looked at Maddie and rolled his eyes lightheartedly.
“Well, if Maddie wants to offer tea and snacks …” Kevin said.
Rex patted his shoulder. “I’m kidding, man. The truth is, I could use a day off the rock. And there’s a new restaurant in Falmouth I wouldn’t mind looking in on. Sample a few things off the menu. My treat.”
They picked Tuesday, a week and a half before Christmas.
Which was why Maddie was sitting on a bench on the boat now, half listening to Rex talking with an old friend instead of Kevin, because Kevin wasn’t with them after all; his wife, Taylor, had “come down” with something during the night, and he didn’t want to leave her alone.
“Life on Chappy is great,” he said. “Unless one of us gets sick.” And though, in addition to being a caretaker of several properties on Chappy, Taylor was an EMT with a penchant for diagnosing people, Kevin wouldn’t allow it when she was the one who was ill.
Rex had called Maddie at six thirty in the morning, told her the situation, and gave her the chance to bail.
She only took a second. “No, I’d still like to go, if you’re up for it. I’ve been looking forward to it.”
“Well, the weather looks decent. Maybe flurries this afternoon, but otherwise good.” Snow flurries in December in New England were hardly a showstopper.
As had been planned, they met at the terminal in Vineyard Haven, where Maddie parked her vehicle and got into Rex’s, and they boarded the eight-fifteen to Woods Hole.
By then Maddie knew that “eight-fifteen” was the proper way to say it, as no one who lived on the island referred to it as “the eight-fifteen boat.” Slowly, she was learning how things ticked.
Since the day they’d been “together,” and their breakfast soon after, Maddie and Rex had not been alone. Which might have been why, when he saw the “old friend,” he’d asked if she minded if he sat behind her and talked with him.
Finally they pulled into port on the Cape side in Woods Hole (known for its Oceanographic Institution, famous for amassing the team who discovered the remains of the RMS Titanic back in 1985), and began their expedition.
Rex suggested they start in East Sandwich, because it was about forty minutes away, and by then the bookstore there would be open.
They then planned to circle down to the store in Mashpee, then back to one in Falmouth—the town next to Woods Hole—where the restaurant was, too.
He’d made reservations on the six-fifteen back to the Vineyard.
If they finished earlier, they might be able to catch the three-forty-five, if there was vehicle space.
It seemed like a perfect plan.
And it was. At the three independent bookstores, Maddie took lots of photos and notes; instead of feeling overwhelmed, she was now downright enthusiastic.
By the time they were seated in the restaurant for their late lunch, she reminded herself—again—not to get too excited until she had a final answer in January, which seemed like a century away.
“Hungry?” Rex asked, picking up the menu.
“Starving.” She ordered flounder meunière seared in olive oil, salted butter, and thyme; Rex chose the monkfish because he said he rarely sees it on a menu, despite that it’s known as “the poor man’s lobster.” He explained that most of it’s exported to places like Europe and East Asia.
Their conversation was easy; for dessert, they shared a dark chocolate torte with whipped cream and a raspberry sauce. And though it had been a “business trip,” Maddie thought it felt a lot like a date—except that the man did not seem interested in her beyond the whole business thing.
She knew that should please her, and yet …
Rex checked his watch; it was five forty. They’d dawdled too long at the restaurant, and needed to hurry.
After gathering their things, they rushed up to the desk where he quickly paid the check, and told Maddie they should be okay to make it back to the island.
Until they stepped out of the restaurant and were greeted by snow that was swirling in the wind.
Blustery, high wind; the kind that caused the big boats to be cancelled.
And so it happened: The six-fifteen (as well as the seven-thirty) would not be running. Even if winds died down in time for the eight-thirty and nine-forty-five, the freight deck—for the vehicles—was already booked.
“I can get a room and stay here tonight,” Rex said, as they sat in the parking lot, watching as the Island Home bobbed in its mooring. “We can at least get you a ticket to walk on one of the later ones.”
“If they run,” Maddie replied.
“Well, yeah.”
In another life, in another world, Maddie might have thought Rex had bargained with Kevin to bail on them today, and also had arranged the cancellations. But as charming as Rex was to her, Maddie doubted he had such powers.
“I have an idea,” she said. “If the earliest I can get on is the eight-fifteen, we should try and find a room for you now before everything’s booked.”
“Good point,” he said. He pulled his black knit beanie over his bald head and drove back to the main road.
All the rooms in Woods Hole hotels and inns were booked.
So they trekked back to Falmouth, where Rex grabbed the last available room at the Inn on the Square.
The desk clerk showed them to the room and left them alone; Rex quickly suggested that they brave the outdoor elements and go get a beer at the Quarterdeck.
If he was trying to avoid the awkward minute of the two of them standing so close to a bed, she was grateful.
The Quarterdeck was a few short blocks down Main Street; the town green was decorated for the holidays, with twinkling lights and carolers doing their best to bring joy to the world.
The cozy pub also was decked out in festive greens with big red bows, and was shimmering with tiny white lights.
After they brushed the snow off their coats, a hostess sat them at a table in the front window, which offered a great view of people darting along the sidewalk, laughing merry laughs as they attempted to buffer themselves against the blustery snow while toting bulging shopping bags.
Rex ordered a beer; Maddie, a glass of chardonnay. In spite of the circumstances, she was aware of how relaxed she was, which she knew was because she was with him.
“So,” he said, “do you want something to eat?”
She laughed. “Didn’t we just stuff ourselves?”
“Well, yes. I guess we did.” He looked down at his hands and busied himself by removing his gloves. Then he started shaking his foot, making the table shiver as if it were outside in the wind.
Without hesitation, Maddie reached across the table and put her hand on his. “Rex. Please tell me you’re not nervous about us being here alone.” Though the thought was kind of sweet, it also made her a bit sad.
He raised his eyes to hers and smiled. “It’s that obvious?”
She laughed. “You remind me of Jeff Carson at my eighth-grade dance.”
“Who?”
“Jeff Carson. He sat at the table next to me in the junior high school gym. Every time he looked at me, he wrung his hands. He never did ask me to dance.”
Rex sat back in his chair. “Can’t blame him. I hate dancing. I never did get the hang of it.”
“Maybe Jeff hated it, too. We’ll never know.”
The drinks arrived. Maddie took her hand off of Rex’s and wondered if he felt the same sense of loss she’d felt when he’d done that with her weeks earlier.
She tasted the wine; Rex lifted his tall mug of beer, but his eyes remained steady on her.
She wasn’t sure if that was the moment she knew she was in love with him, but it was the first time she was sure that she was right.
Later, as they walked back to the inn, Maddie looped her arm through his.
The wind had quieted; the boats no doubt would be back up and running.
Neither of them bothered to check. Instead, once in the room, they crawled under the bed covers together, warmed each other against the chill, and made love until dawn.